“Thornton, are you listening?”

Shiver, as he was known to most outside of his family, turned away from the window, where he’d been looking out at the dormant gardens of Whittaker Abbey. The land had been handed down, heir to heir, since 1547, when the former Cistercian abbey was taken over by Henry VIII. Shortly afterward the estate had been given to John Whittaker as a gift from the king for his service.

As a boy, he’d explored every acre of the forested estate and gardens, knowing that one day the care and maintenance of the land would be his responsibility. It had seemed a long way off then—not until he was an old man, when his father, the fourteenth Duke passed away.

Until then, he would remain the Marquess of Bedford, and more importantly, a high-ranking agent in the United Kingdom’s Secret Intelligence Service, also known as Military Intelligence Section 6, or MI6.

“I beg your pardon, Duchess,” he answered, looking lovingly at his mother, the woman who had been the guiding force of their family in the months since his father suffered a debilitating stroke.

“What news of Almanzo?”

Like him, his younger brother by two years, known to most as Wilder, was employed by “her majesty’s secret service.” However, he was on the national security side—MI5.

Shiver sneaked a look at his phone. “He’s expected this afternoon.”

“Very good. You and he will get the trees.”

His first thought was to ask why the groundskeepers couldn’t handle it on their own as they’d had even before his father’s illness, but he understood his mother was grasping for any semblance of what she considered normalcy. Choosing the trees that would be brought into the abbey and decorated for the holidays was something he, his father, and brother had done together until Shiver had turned eighteen and left for university.

“We will do,” he murmured, wondering how many trees his mother planned to decorate this year. Was more than one really necessary? It wasn’t as though they would be entertaining this holiday season.

His mother, Duchess Victoria, was the eldest daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Cheshire, and still practiced what some believed to be archaic traditions of the English nobility.

“Come, sit with me,” said his mother, holding her hand out to him. “Tell me what’s troubling you.”

Shiver sat, but he had no intention of telling her anything. He also had no intention of lying, so he chose not to say anything.

“Have you seen your father this morning?” she asked.

Shiver nodded. “I read the news.”

His mother patted his hand. “You know how much he likes to catch up over his morning tea.”

He wasn’t certain his father had heard a word he’d read, but as the doctor had told them, the important thing was that the family spent time with him and conversed whether the duke was able to respond or not.

“There’s more,” he heard her murmur.

“What’s that?”

“Something is on your mind, Thornton, and whatever it is, its weight is heavy.”

Even if he wanted to discuss it with his mother, he wouldn’t know where to begin.

“It’s a woman.”

Shiver leaned closer. “It’s nothing,” he said softly. “Let it be, Duchess.”

“For now,” she said, standing and kissing his forehead. “I’ll check on your father.”

Shiver nodded and stood, walking back over to the window.

It had been a over a month since United Russia lifted the ten million dollar bounty they had on Orina “Losha” Kuznetsov’s head, and yet Shiver had no idea where she was and why she insisted on staying so far underground that no one could find her.

He’d called in every favor—and there had been many—but so far he didn’t have a single lead as to where the bloody woman was hiding.

“You best be driving in the gate,” Shiv said when he answered his brother’s call.

Wilder laughed. “At least an hour out but before you blast me, I’ve spent the last half hour listening to Sir Ranald tell me how he intends to fire you.”

Shiver laughed. “My Christmas wish come true.”

“What in the bloody hell did you do?”

Shiver pounded his fist on the desk of the office he’d been holed up in, cursing the impotence he felt as much as the walls surrounding him.

Ten minutes ago, his boss had summoned him, but Shiver wasn’t any closer to giving him the answer he sought than he had been two weeks ago when Rivet asked for his decision.

Sir Ranald “Rivet” Caird was a career British intelligence officer for MI6 who, four years prior, had been named chief. At the time, he’d been candid about his refusal to serve beyond a five-year term.

The first in line to succeed him had been Merrigan Shaw, who was now Merrigan Shaw-Butler, happily married to Kade Butler, a founding partner of the private security and intelligence firm made up primarily of former CIA operatives. Merrigan had taken over as managing partner of the group and had made it perfectly clear that she wouldn’t return to MI6, regardless of any position offered.

As much as that had infuriated their boss, Rivet had seen her departure coming as much as Shiver had, and couldn’t begrudge her all the happiness she and Kade had in their lives.

With Merrigan out of the picture, Shiver had moved to the top spot to succeed Sir Caird. His lack of enthusiasm along with his refusal to give the man an answer, incensed his boss.

“He’s pacing,” said Patsy, sticking her head in Shiver’s office. “Would you mind?”

“In a minute,” he snapped, immediately regretting his tone. Patsy was Rivet’s assistant and didn’t deserve his or anyone else’s wrath.

“I take it you haven’t heard anything.”

Patsy was well aware of Shiver’s search for Orina Kuznetsov, and had done everything she could to help. While her level of security clearance was as high or higher than Shiver’s, she couldn’t do too much digging without getting in trouble with Rivet herself.

“Sorry, Pats. Not your fault or your problem.”

“Go talk to him. Get it over with so we can all start enjoying the holiday.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” he muttered, cursing himself again for his thoughtlessness.

Patsy motioned with her head toward Rivet’s office and Shiver stood.

“You’re not a duke yet,” Rivet barked when Shiver entered his office. “Until you are, I outrank you and I expect you to respond appropriately.”

“Yes, sir. My apologies.”

“The resources of MI6 are not yours to make use of for personal matters.”

“Understood.” Now wasn’t the time to argue with Rivet, but other than making contact with several of their operatives, Shiver hadn’t used MI6 money to search for Kuznetsov.

“That being said, I am authorizing a fact-finding mission.”

“Don’t.”

Rivet raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not ready to give you an answer.”

“You’re under the assumption that I’m authorizing the mission in exchange for your acceptance of the position?”

“To a certain extent.”

“Get the hell out of my office. In fact, get the hell out of the building.”

“Rivet, I meant no—”

“Out!”

His brother laughed. “Did you wish him a happy Christmas on your way out?”

Shiver ran his hand through his hair. “He’s frustrated that I won’t give him an answer.”

“No, Shiv, he’s pissed that you thought so little of him.”

When his brother didn’t say anything else, Shiver thought perhaps their call had dropped, but then he heard him take a deep breath.

“We’ll find her, but in the meantime, you have to find a way to compartmentalize.”

If his brother was standing in front of him, Shiver would likely belt him, after which he’d feel equally as guilty as he did about his conversation with Rivet. However, he had no restraint regardless of knowing he’d experience regret.

“Where the hell is she?” he murmured in a way he wouldn’t to anyone but his brother.

“I wish I had the answer, Shiv.”

Orina looked into the most beautiful brown eyes that had ever graced the universe.

Mishka wasn’t just the heavens’ most beloved angel given to her as a precious gift; she was Orina’s world, and she would do anything to protect her.

“What shall we do today?” she whispered, kissing her baby’s brow.

Mishka cooed and gave her one of the sweet smiles Orina craved.

She heard the burner cell she kept near the bedside table vibrate and ran to grab it.

“Losha,” she heard the woman’s voice say. “It’s Zary.”

Only then did Orina speak. No one else knew the phone’s number, but she wasn’t foolish enough to think it would stay that way. United Russia’s reach was global, and eventually, regardless of what fail-safes she put in place, they’d find her.

“It’s over, Losha,” Zary told her. “You can come out of hiding.”

Zary had told her the same thing over a month ago, and if it were only her life at stake, maybe she would’ve believed the words of the only person worthy of her trust. As it was, she couldn’t be too careful.

“Where are you, Losha?”

She could hear the desperation in her friend’s voice, and understood that she would’ve felt the same way if the situations were reversed.

“I’ll be in touch—”

“Wait, don’t hang up. You should know that Shiver—”

From the other room, Mishka began to fuss. Orina immediately ended the call but knew it hadn’t been quickly enough. Zary had to have heard the baby’s cries.